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His thumb raked over her nipple, suddenly shocking her with the burning pleasure that lanced from the sensitive peak to the swollen, saturated bud of her clitoris.
Her vagina clenched.
Her juices were spilling along the sensitive channel, slicking the bare lips, because yes, she did wax. The dampness gathered and built, preparing her for his touch, for his possession.
And she couldn’t stop it.
She couldn’t stop him.
He began turning her in his arms, eroticism filling the night, the scent of dark cherry and spice from the cigar he had been smoking wrapping around her senses. One hand slid into her hair, clenched in the damp strands, while the other wrapped around her back and dragged her to him.
She stared up at him, watching the usually icy gray-blue gaze darken and flame and swirl with heat as her lips parted.
In that second, just as she was certain she was going to feel his lips against hers, feel the kiss she’d ached for, dreamed of, fantasized about, the harsh, strident buzz of his cell phone suddenly shocked her back into awareness.
Eve jerked away from him, her breathing harsh, staring at him in disbelief as something dangerous, something dark and sensual flashed across his expression a second before that tilted smile curled one side of his lips.
“Run, little lamb,” he whispered. “Hurry and escape before the big, bad wolf gobbles you up. ”
She turned and did just that.
Rushing into her room and quickly closing and locking the door, she glimpsed the light of his cell phone suddenly flaring on as he answered the call, casting his expression in sharp relief.
A chill raced over her body.
As he stared at her, as the glare of the phone’s light revealed the shadows and contours of his expression, a flash of pure trepidation rushed through her senses. In his face, in his eyes, she saw hard, certain determination.
He had let her get away this time.
He had let her get away each time he’d been close in the past two and a half years.
The next time . . .
She wouldn’t be nearly so lucky—the next time.
TWO
It was so hot in the room, she was dying.
Or was she so hot she was dying?
Eve tried turning the AC down, hoping the additional cold air would help cool her body, but she wasn’t quite lucky enough for that to help.
This was killing her.
What the hell had she done to deserve this? To want a man, to ache for him until it felt like her body was on fire, and to know—know to the tips of her toenails—that allowing herself to have him would only end badly.
There were some men a woman just knew weren’t good for her. Brogan Campbell had the potential to be just such a man.
It was there in that cynicism that wasn’t quite hidden. The mockery that lingered at the edge of every smile she’d ever seen on his lips.
He watched the world as though he knew all its cruel, bitter secrets and merciless games. He knew them, practiced them, used them.
Not that he was a deliberately cruel person, she didn’t think.
Oh, hell, no, she was taking that damned thought back. Only a cruel, merciless, coldhearted, soulless man could have done to a woman what he had done to her outside.
Fists clenched in the blankets, she fought the need to relieve a little of the tension. Just marginally. Just enough that she could survive the aching burn in the depths of her pussy.
